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John sat looking down at his shoes. He did not have the energy to look up at her. His therapist whom he said he would never need to see again after he met....never mind.
“John” her voice pulled him from his fog. He lifted his head wearily. “I noticed you haven't updated the blog since your last case.”
“Nothing to write...” John mumbled.
“But, I think there is something to write, don't you?” Her eyes were watching him closely, taking in his every movement as she provoked him, forced him to remember the stories he wrote about his friend, and why there had been nothing new to add.
John looked back at his shoes.
“John. You have refused medication. You barely speak to me in our sessions. How can you expect me to help you if...” at that moment her clock went off signaling the end of his hour. He took his cane from the side of the arm-chair and limped out of the office, past the front desk, and fell into pace with the Londoners returning home in the evening rush on the street.
He enjoyed walking in the mass of people. He looked from person to person, hearing that voice in his ear as he focused on each individual.
Sleeping with her boss.
Lost all his money in a gambling incident but his second wife doesn't know.
Obviously a man who won a great deal of money recently but spent it all and should be returning home to his family with the remaining money but is actually on his way to the pub to drink the rest away.
John smiled and looked to his side, expecting to see his friend with that smug expression he wore when he knew how correct he was in a deduction. But instead, he met eyes with a cranky looking woman. He looked away quickly and turned onto his street. The traffic was not as heavy in front of his door and he easily slipped inside 221B.
He leaned against the door, listening. At one point he would have heard sounds of chemistry sets clinking or a violin playing a sweet tune. Now there was only silence. Deafening. John opened his eyes and began climbing the staircase. Each step made his leg scream. He stopped at the top of the stairs to rest and saw a note pinned to the door:
Popped out to the market for a few things. Let me know if you need me to pick anything up for you. Be back around 7. ~Mrs. Hudson
John sighed. She mothered him. She was so worried that he couldn't take care of himself alone. It's not like he didn't live alone before he came to Baker Street. He knew how to get on. He was perfectly fine.
He opened his door and stood in the middle of the living room. Everything was a memory. Everything was painful. Everything made him angry. The anger that is felt not only in the heart, but in the pit of the stomach. It tears you apart until you are only a hallow shell. You begin to feel as little as possible, thinking that if you stopped showing emotion, you will stop the gnawing. But this only feeds the beast who thrives on negativity. Trying not to look at the skull reminds you that is just what you are. Refusing to think of him standing over his microscope reminds you of the experiments that will never be. His violin reminds you that things once sweet will not last, music can not go on forever and neither can the life of one extraordinary man.
John tore his eyes from his companion's things and went to the bathroom. He walked across the small room and began to fill the tub. He watched for a few minutes as the water turned hot and steam began to rise, misting the mirror and small window, giving the room an eerie look and a sticky feel. He slowly removed his clothes, folding them carefully and putting them beside the door. John hung his cane on the edge of the porcelain basin and stepped in, immersing himself in the warm liquid. His leg felt immediately relived and he let out a low sigh. John turned off the water and leaned back, listening once again. Whatever he expected to hear, he did not. There was no sound save the water lapping against the sides of tub.
With his eyes closed, John slid further down, until he was completely submerged. He opened his eyes and looked up through the water, seeing the lights swimming and the ceiling swirling with the current he created in his bathtub. But there was something else, in the corner of his eye. Something he couldn't quite see, but he knew it was there. He listened again, this time hearing, not silence, but a comforting voice, clear even under the water saying one word.
“John”
John smiled. He was ready to let go and leave the pain behind. He relaxed his body, and listened again.
“John”
But something was wrong. The voice was not soothing. It was...annoyed?
John's head began swimming. He needed to breathe. He didn't want to breathe. He was so close to the end. And there was a whirring sound in his ears. He focused on that sound, and felt a pull on his body. He did not fight it.
All of a sudden, his face broke the water. John opened his eyes. He had not moved, but he was no longer without air. He was breathing, coughing, his lungs thankful for the breath, but his mind enraged. He should not be conscious. That is when he realized that the water level was dropping. Somehow the plug in the drain had been pulled out.
John was annoyed and confused. He had been laying perfectly still. He could not have done it. He felt he was so close to solving crimes again, to doing whatever he would do in the next life. Looking forward to it as long as his detective was there, too.
As the rest of the water was pulled down the drain, John stood up and reached for the towel. He wrapped it around himself and went to put on the clothes he had laid by the door. As he bent down to pick them up, he saw something laying on top. It was a note.
“Mrs. Hudson. PLEASE do not come into the bathroom without knocking and receiving a reply.” John yelled at his landlady as he bent down to pick up the folded note. “Furthermore, I do not need you to mother me! I am a grown....” John's voice trailed off as he noticed the curling script on the thick yellow paper.
John-
Please do not do anything rash. Don't be insensible. I will need you shortly. After all, the game is still afoot.
- SH